I've been trading small here and there and have noticed that nothing can be predicted to go the same way as it has before.
So I've been thinking and getting a feel for it which is no feel at all, and have come to the conclusion that: 1. yes it is manipulate. 2. it's crazy. 3. No one can predict anything with any accuracy. 4. Things happen for no possible conceived reason that can be worked out. 5. Although it is manipulated, they, as in the manipulators have no idea what they are doing, and the more they manipulate the more crazy it becomes, until no one at all knows what will happen next.
All this brings me to the conclusion that anything at all can happen.
Now, if anyone at all has got to here then I am quite willing to listen to an alternative theory, even the half baked ones.
Anyway, now that we have got this far, let me tell you a story...
SOMEPLACE WHERE THE WALLS DON’T SHAKE
Her name was number 5 and that’s all I knew about her but she had plenty of stories about who she used to be before she became number 5, and as we both ascended she told me about the monster:
“The monster was outside my door. What monster? It doesn’t matter what monster, they’re all the same. This one was just there with its noise, tearing up my world; but call it a pneumatic drill with its incessant clamour and ear splitting shrieks penetrating me in the far side of my house, if you will.
The walls were shaking.
I lit up my fifth cigarette in ten minutes and told myself it would end soon. How deep can they go anyway? I thought of a dentist’s drill and knew they would not stop until they struck gold.
I looked out of the window and saw across to the hills. A swathe had been cut in the pine woods; the monster was also cutting down the trees.
Suddenly it all went quiet and I could hear the tap dripping. It was dripping slowly, each drop hanging back as if not wanting to fall, and then a quick dive to splash and become one with the bowl full of water; precious, tender moments in the lull.
Clouds gently drifted past making my shadow dance on the white wall as a lazy wind moved the leaves that caressed the window pane.
A train rumbled by with its heavy load.
Parallel to the train tracks, the river, swollen by recent rains found its way to the sea. It too carried a heavy load, from the monster: a greeting card to make the world into hell.
The noise started back up, the generator breathing its mechanical fury. More than one drill began clattering and I found it impossible to think.
They wrote me a letter saying it would be so. How kind of them. Some days later the monster invaded the street, and my world.
I couldn’t keep it out. The monster with its thunder had found me. It knew my weaknesses and preyed on them.
It had no heart. It was blind. It felt nothing. It was a great big amorphous nightmare, tearing into my spirit.
I couldn’t escape by becoming the house, the house quaked in fear.
I couldn’t escape it by becoming the tree, the tree was torn by the monster’s breath.
I couldn’t escape by becoming the wind, the wind is not here.
The monster moved up the street to its next victim, leaving behind a scar that never heals.
I heard the monster in the distance tearing up my world: it wouldn’t leave me alone, ever.
The sun shined through the clouds across my kitchen table. I became the sun and smiled for a few moments.
I thought that if I could have a wish, I would wish for the monster to be put back in its box.
I wanted to breathe again. I wanted to hear my world again.
I wanted to walk in the garden again.
It was then I knew that I had to go away somewhere, some place where the walls don’t shake.”
With her story finished she turned away and said no more.
Oh dear, here we are at the end of the story for this time.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, I will leave you with a hearty good luck in your crypto endeavours, or whatever endeavours you may be in. Goodnight, and I will see you all tomorrow at the crack of dawn....
End.